Hello, Darkness
by The Mechanical Magpie
Summary: Maybe returning to normal life isn't as good an idea as it sounds. Rikucentric, oneshot.


A/N: I can count on one hand the number of times I've written about Riku. For good reason; he's not my favourite character, even if I can relate to his whole "LET ME OUT" spiel. I'm not real big on angsty drama-whores. But I was listening to "The Sound of Silence" by Simon and Garfunkel, and, well... here you go. Perhaps if you look very hard and stand on your head, you can pick out hints of Ansem/Riku. By the way, I hold no responsibility for damages if someone actually tries that.

-Hello, Darkness-

After two long years, he was finally back on the Islands. He was finally home, back to his paopu tree, back to school and friends and sparring on the sand, back to all the things that made life normal. There were no Heartless or Nobodies here, only kids and fish and coconuts and parents. No one was out to kill him, enslave him, or steal his heart.

Destiny Islands might have been boring, but they were a safe kind of boring, a boring far removed from the life he'd lived the past two years. He could go to sleep at night without having to worry if he'd wake again in his own skin. He didn't have to always go armed. He didn't have to fear what lurked in the shadows just beyond the light's reach. Here on the Islands, he let himself think that the shadow on his heart was all in his head. And though that was frightening in its own way, madness not being a road he wanted to consider traveling, it was far less frightening than the truth. The truth directed a blinding light onto his failings, onto all the things that could wake him screaming in the night. The truth was itself a light far too bright for him to venture near. He tried desperately and constantly to be glad to be home.

But Riku couldn't help remembering the velvety embrace of the darkness, a silken voice enticing him from the shadows to just _give in, _burning amber eyes with the demand clear in their orange depths_. _

And try as he might, he never did feel comfortable in direct sunlight. Perhaps it was the lingering fragments of darkness in his heart, but he grew ever more accustomed to the darkness. He knew he didn't have to only wander the shadows, that he belonged in the light. The King had told him so, and the King knew these things. There was no reason to doubt his word.

So he hoisted a fake smile to his face, pretended to be glad to be back amongst the islanders and their blitzball games and homework and school and all the rest of their petty cares. He laughed at Wakka and Tidus' antics, acted exasperated with Sora's endless cheer, and good-naturedly loathed his teachers for assigning homework.

But it all felt increasingly unreal. Selphie, always mildly irritating, became more of a downright obnoxious pest, Sora's overwhelming happiness became all the more stifling, and Kairi just another stupid girl with damsel-in-distress syndrome. The light began to burn his eyes again, the way that it had just before the night of that fateful storm.

And before he knew it, he was hating the Islands and the islanders again, wishing for any way to get out. He was back on the outside looking in, wondering how they were all managing to enjoy being stuck on such a dull little world. He watched them in their pitiful contentment and lack of desire to seek something better and hated them for it. He had seen wonders, seen marvelous places, where men and women with the tails of fishes swam in a world of ocean, where cursed treasures could turn pirates into skeletons in the moonlight, where waterfalls fell upwards, where genies in lamps and guardian dragons and gods all existed. There was nothing even close to those marvels on the islands. And until he found something that compared, he would never be content.

He knew his malcontent only helped the shadow in his heart to grow, knew that the hatred he felt for the islands would only expedite the return of one whom the worlds were far better off without. But when Wakka sparred using a _ball_ for a weapon, he couldn't help but remember how comforting the dark had felt, how its scent had seemed, at first, the most wonderful in all the worlds. He couldn't help but remember the man that waited within, whose presence strengthened in his heart with each passing day, the man who, with his perfect form, made the darkness so inviting.

He tried to still his treacherous heart by reminding himself of what had done to him, of the way he'd been treated by the Heartless king, of Maleficent and Hook and Jafar and all the other degenerates carrying out his plans. Did he really want to go back to that? He constantly told himself no, that he just had to get used to the islands again. Just acclimate, and everything would go back to normal.

But what was normal? Was normal the blind, empty contentment of the others, whose life philosophy seemed to be, "Well, this works. Let's stick with it." Was it all the shallowness they embraced like a lover? Was it blinding light that made his eyes burn and his skin ache? Was this really what he aspired towards?

Or was it the longing to get away? Was it hating the islands as passionately as anything? Was it succumbing to the comfort of the shadows, where the light no longer made him ache?

He never once found a satisfactory answer in the flatline minds of the others. He simply couldn't make himself share their cares and worries.

And one night, he sat on his bed staring into the shadows in the corners of his room. He never slept much anymore, but not because of nightmares or night terrors jerking him from sleep. Night seemed comforting to him. When the sun had set, when the light no longer forced itself upon his eyes, he finally felt at ease. Not content or happy, just... calm. The nervous anger that bubbled just under the surface during the day faded at night. He was tired of the world of the day, where the stupidest issues seemed apocalyptic. He was tired of the constant company of the others, who insisted on being with everyone at every hour of the day.

A hot tendril of anger curled through him. Why did they constantly want to be around each other? Perhaps when they were alone, they shut down, like marionettes without masters or strings. Like the moon, they required another light source to shine. They had no personalities without someone else around to direct them how to act. But just because they were personality parasites didn't mean Riku was. Couldn't they see that he didn't want them around? That he just wanted to get out, get away, have his own fun for once? Why was the concept of someone enjoying his own company so unconscionable?

He looked back into the thickest shadow of his room, the corner of his half-shut closet.

And for the first time in two years, he thought he heard a low, smooth voice enticing him out of the realm of the light. Amber eyes opened in the shadows, and waist-length silver hair swirled as he approached, a smug smirk upon full lips. A dark hand curled under Riku's chin and tilted his face up.

Riku did not smile or frown or curse or laugh. He merely nodded in mute, dull acceptance. "What took you so long?" he asked dully.

And Ansem laughed, softly, and the sound did not chill Riku's heart.

_Hello, darkness, my old friend._

_I've come to talk with you again._


End file.
